


Nurse

by SolosOrca



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolosOrca/pseuds/SolosOrca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka is ill. Ryoma decides to nurse him back to health</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nurse

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to notapillowfight for pointing me in the direction of the poem, it's Autumn Journal by Louis MacNeice.

Tezuka was sick. He had gone to bed the previous night with a headache and woken up with full blown flu.

Ryoma had first realised something was wrong when Tezuka hadn't gotten up as soon as the alarm went off despite that they had training that day.

"Are you okay, Tezuka?" Ryoma asked.

"No," Tezuka had replied, his voice croaky. If Tezuka was admitting something was wrong then he was really sick.

Their coach had almost had a heart attack when Ryoma phoned him.

"I though you were unconscious till ten," he had said. It was pretty much true, Ryoma was asleep on his feet until his first tennis match of the day.

"Tezuka's ill," Ryoma had replied, ignoring the jibe. "Neither of is will be at training today."

"Why? Are you sick as well?"

"No, I have to look after Tezuka," with that he hung up. He'd get it in the neck when they next had training, but he didn't care.

With that, he'd gone back to the bedroom and announced that their coach had given them both the day off.

Tezuka spent most of the morning asleep, so Ryoma's job was just to keep Karupin from getting into the bedroom and disturbing him.

"How are you feeling?" Ryoma asked when he poked his head around the door at lunchtime.

"Not good," Tezuka replied.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"No, some tea would be nice though."

Ryoma nodded and returned a few minutes later with a mug of Tezuka's favourite tea.

"You look a bit better," Ryoma said as Tezuka sat up to drink he tea.

"I don't feel it," Tezuka croaked back, "it hurts to talk."

"Poor Kunimitsu," Ryoma said, climbing onto the bed to sit next to his boyfriend.

"I tried reading earlier and it made my eyes hurt."

"Poor Kunimitsu," Ryoma repeated, hugging Tezuka close. He could feel how hot and clammy he was through his pyjamas. "I'll read to you."

"You don't have to."

"You'll get bored if I don't," Ryoma said, "I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

Tezuka nodded and reached over to the bedside table and picked up a book.

"It's in English," Ryoma noted as he flicked through the pages, "and it's poetry."

"I bought it to practice my English," Tezuka explained.

"Your English is perfect already."

"I still like to practice."

"Alright, which one do you want me to read?"

Tezuka picked out a couple of cantos from one poem and then a selection of other poems and Ryoma started reading.

"But life was comfortable, life was fine. With two in a bed and patchwork cushions," Ryoma read and Tezuka settled against him, his head on his shoulder, reading along with him. His voice was rather monotonous at the start, but soon he got into the rhythm of the poem.

"And checks and tassels on the washing-line. A gramophone, a cat, and the smell of jasmine."

Tezuka shut his eyes and let Ryoma's voice wash over him. It was nice to hear his favourite poems being read with flawless pronunciation. He was proud of his English skills, but knew he couldn't hold a candle to Ryoma.

He shifted slightly, his back was getting stiff and starting to ache. It was very nice to have his head on Ryoma's shoulder, but this position did nothing to help his back.

"You okay?" Ryoma asked.

"I need to lie down."

He ended up with his head on Ryoma's lap, a role reversal from normal.

Ryoma kept reading, using his free hand to stroke Tezuka's slightly damp hair. He smiled into Ryoma's thigh, he could see why Ryoma liked having his head in Tezuka's lap, his fingers running soothingly through his hair.

"Next time I'm sick you have to take care of me," Ryoma said later. They were now lying in bed together, Tezuka wrapped up nice and warm in Ryoma's arms. "And I expect you to read to me."

"I thought you didn't like poetry."

"I don't," Ryoma admitted, "but I might like it if you read it."


End file.
